The Ghost and the Night
by Delia Ra'Nar
Summary: An AU ‘07 verse story. A year is a long time to be absent and the jungle is a very different place then the sewers of New York. What if there was another reason Leonardo did not return home after his training period ended?
1. Prolog

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A/N: So, I'm not dead (though I rather feel as though I should be) and have finally found time to finish this first chapter. This story is an AU of the 07 movie which has been a rabid plot bunny in my brain for at least a year now. It was really inspired by a one page comic on deviantart by tmask01 (h t t p : // tmask01 . Deviantart . com/ art / TMNT – Night – and – ghost -98304087) So please read, relax, and enjoy!

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The Ghost and the Night

The first thing he noticed was that he was alone. Not the pain, nor the darkness, but the fact that he was the only sentient being in the area. And for a moment that bothered him. Then the thought was pushed away by other, more pressing matters. Like water. He was so very thirsty; it felt as though he had not had a drink in days.

He lifted his head off of the surface on which he lay, but was hindered by a wave of dizziness. As the feeling passed he realized that he was in some sort of underground dwelling (a cave). There was a faint light filtering from above, so there was probably a way to the surface (a crevice). By the light he could make out the remains of a fire, long since chocked upon its own waste, quite close to his face and a tangled heap of fabric beside him (blanket). He could hear the trickle of water coming from somewhere in the shadowy recesses. His thirst was suddenly overwhelming and he desperately dragged himself forward. He did not even try to gain his feet but crawled across the uneven floor, scraping his arms and knees as he went. So set upon his task was he that he did not realize he had obtained his objective until he literally ran into the rough wooden gourd positioned under the trickling water. He flailed desperately to right the container, unsure if he could wait for it to fill once more. His jerky motions sent him hard into the floor, but he did not spill the precious liquid. Once he was sure of his grip he leaned his back (shell) against the still slightly damp wall and raised the water to his mouth.

A small voice in his head warned him to take it slowly- but even the lukewarm water tasted so very delicious. He greedily gulped half of the sizable container before realizing the depth of his mistake. Calling upon protesting and weakened muscles he barely managed to avoid contaminating his water supply as he brought back up all the liquid he had just quaffed. Shaking slightly and properly chastised, he scooted back and took a few more slow parting sips.

He was already exhausted, but his stomach was telling him that he had not eaten in a long while either. He cast about him for anything edible and found another wooden container, this one with a lid, and a small bag instead. Pulling them into his lap, he eagerly dug in. The container held small shriveled things (dried fruit) and the bag a collection of short fibrous tubes (roots). The same small voice that he had ignored before told him that they were edible so he grabbed a selection before making his way back to the bundle of fabric where he had woken up. The food was bitter, but he felt better for the nourishment. As he chewed slowly he contemplated building a fire (sticks, flint, tinder). There were some dried vines hanging from the ceiling that might burn. But he was much too tired.

As he pulled the grey material around his body and stared at the slowly blurring light filtering from above it occurred to him , abstractly, that he had no recollection (memory) of a time before now. On some level he realized that he should be bothered by that, but then he was asleep and beyond caring.

.o0o.o0o.o0o.

He awoke suddenly from a dream to an uncomfortable fullness of his bladder. Without thought he wandered over to the appropriate section of the cave. It was only after he had returned, blinking at the bright light now filling the space, that he realized that he had known where to go.

He was sure that this was a good sign. He had noticed, absently , that the cave did not show signs of heavy habitation. If it was just him out here (it was) then he would have to look to himself for answers.

His sleep had left him feeling much better. After finishing the remains of his last meal and drinking some more water he felt well enough to explore the cave in its entirety. It was fairly deep, though only one chamber. The trickle that served as his water supply welled out of a crack in the stone wall and disappeared onto a weather worn whole after flowing out of the depression that his water jug sat in. He assumed that there must be another chamber (aquifer) under this one.

Near his sleeping area but on the opposite side of the water, there was another bundle. This one held a bundle of brown strips (leather) sewn together (pads), a pair of sharp metal sticks (swords) , and a strip of blue material. He ran his hand over the soft blue scrap (silk) and fingered the two holes (mask) before returning it carefully to the pile.

There were a few other bits of life tucked neatly into the shadows; coils of rough rope, several spears, and the leavings of a much larger wood pile. There wasn't much in the way of food, and after taking in the depleted wood pile, he knew he would require more kindling as well. He knew what to look for, he could even picture the plants that he knew he could eat, but he looked at the light filtering in far above him, between the vines, and his limbs threatened to collapse. If there were someone else, he felt, if there were someone else he would have made himself go. Forced himself to be sure that they would be taken care of- but it was just him, alone in this place as maybe it had always been, and he could wait.

.o0o.o0o.o0o.

Later that evening, as he burrowed into his blanket and huddled close to the small fire he had managed to light, he thought that perhaps he should have gone out anyway. The chill, however, did little more than discomfort him and he was soon able to block out even the small shiver that plagued him. Still, too many nights like that one would weaken him, perhaps even make him ill.

And maybe that was what had gotten him into this mess to begin with. He certainly felt weak enough for it to have been true. Regardless, he would have to collect supplies soon.

.o0o.o0o.o0o.

Two days after he had first woke up he felt strong enough to pull himself to the surface. Before he positioned himself under the opening he paused beside his bedding. There had been something bothering him about that. He dragged it into the center of the room and gave it a strong flick, causing dirt collected from the floor to be shaken loose. He found and adjusted his hold on the material. Ah, yes, there it was. He slipped the blanket (cloak) around his shoulders. Feeling more prepared he took a step forward, but stopped again. His mind drifted back to the pile of leather and silk. He just couldn't leave them for some reason. After a moment of thought, he slid the pads onto his limbs, over his joints and wound the strip of silk around his bicep so the ends trailed down his elbow. Feeling much more armored against whatever it was he might meet, he propelled himself as far up the vines as he could in his initial jump, grabbing on with a grunt and hauling his body out into the dappled sunlight. He paused to catch his breath and take in his surroundings. He stood in a crowded clearing made by the hole that led to his cave and the large trees that hung over it. The sun was slanting through and it seemed as though there was green everywhere. Life was everywhere. A part of him thrilled at the sight, but another part felt… wrong. Then he caught sight of a plant that he knew he could eat and set off to find more. His gathering expedition lead him far from where he had awoken, but, somehow, he was sure that he could find his way back. He was quite a ways (miles) when he finally found other sentients. As soon as he heard the sounds (voices) he found himself ensconced in a tree even before he had the opportunity to consider what action to take. From his leafy blind he observed a female and her offspring (mother and child). They appeared to be doing the same as him, foraging for supplies. Part of him wanted to go down to them, talk to them, question them—maybe they would be able to tell him where he was, who he was. But a larger, much louder part was screaming at him not to allow himself to be seen. Stick to the shadows. So he remained aloft.

The sentients (humans) seemed slightly nervous and frequently looked over their shoulders as they sifted through the brush. He would have thought that they sensed his presence, but they never once looked in his direction, not even as he moved through the trees above them, unwilling to let them out of his sight even as he was unwilling to approach.

Even hanging back he was aware of the men before they were. He didn't like them, but he didn't know the situation so he did not interfere with their approach. It was made obvious by the reaction of the mother and child that they didn't like the looks of the men either. When they spoke it took him a moment to understand their words. Part of him wondered if that was also a result of his illness, but the larger part shut the reflections away when it became clear that the men wanted the small family's food and, as he read tone and body language, perhaps a bit more. He found the very thought repugnant and he was in motion before he realized he had left his tree.

Even in his cold fury he remembered the one tenet he seemed to live by—don't be seen. He took out his first opponent at the knees, knowing from the sick crack of skull meeting rock that he wouldn't be getting up again. The other stumbled backwards, brandishing a shotgun at a place from which he was long gone. He was observing from aloft once more, unsure as to how best to take down the spooked man without inflicting any casualties. The man seemed to be jabbering on fear. Something about…ghosts. Did they think that _he_ was a ghost? A slow smile crept unbidden across his face—he could work with that.

He made his way through the leafy boughs until he was directly behind the man and purposely shook the branch above his own head. As expected the man whorled and fired a shot that flew harmlessly over him. He let out a wavering groan none the less. He peered through the foliage and smirked as the man smiled and swaggered over to where he lay in wait. A last instinct caused him to pull up the fold of his cloak (hood), making sure that the only glimpse his opponent would be able to get was the smoky grey of his garment.

The bush in front of him was swept away by a meaty hand and squinting eyes peered at the space under the tree. The man only had time to gasp before being propelled backward and to land unconscious before mother and child.

He shadowed them until they came to the edge of the jungle. It seemed as though there was an entire settlement of the creatures. They lived together above ground in dwellings (houses) made of wood (not stone). The child and its mother were met by others all from one building (family). The exchange of concern and physical contact they displayed left an empty hole in his abdomen that all his organs wished to sink into. No, that was not right; the hole had been there all the while, ever since he first recalled opening his eyes, but seeing the group together drew his attention unlike anything else had. It was not right that these people, that these _families_, live in fear. He was here, seemingly alone, seemingly without purpose—he would protect these people.

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A/N: This story is rather different than anything I've tried before (except that I seem to love messing with Leo's head) so I'd love to hear what you think. I can't say when the next chapter will be ready, but I'll try to keep updates at reasonable intervals- Yours, Delia Ra'Nar


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: Okay, so not really a reasonable interval, but this past semester was really doing it's best to end me. But, hey, I'm still alive and so, in celebration, I'm posting this chapter!

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Time passed oddly here beneath the trees. The sun set and moon rose according to their cycles, but he gave them little notice, moving through darkness wherever he could find it, recognizing it as a friend. The small settlement was not as far away from his cave as it had first seemed. By taking a treetop course he could avoid the bend in the river and arrive in little time at all. This proved to be a blessing as the brigands and jungle militia were nothing if not tenacious. The attacks on the town and demands for tribute actually increased at first, but it soon became obvious to the brigands that the village's protector was something more than natural. For his part, the newly christened 'Ghost of the Jungle' tracked the men as they noisily bashed their way through his woods and soon had the location of every camp within a ten-mile radius. He spent the bulk of his time keeping an eye on their populations and occasionally stealing back food for the villagers or sabotaging the equipment in the camp.

Eventually he expanded his area of protection to all of the villages in the surrounding jungle. Though he could not stop all terrible crimes that the humans seemed to visit upon each other, he did his best, even if he was reduced to little more than clean up duty. At least the children didn't go hungry.

Sometimes the villagers would even leave food out for him in bowls on their doorsteps. He only ate when he knew that the family had food to spare, but it was a nice supplement to whatever he managed to forage in between his patrols of the jungle. Though he knew the risk of being seen was unpardonable, and the waste of time ill advised, some nights he would crouch on the roof and peer between the thatch at the warm interiors, or sit at the tree line just within hearing distance and listen to the cacophony of noise that family made. He wasn't sure why he did it. It didn't make him feel better—quite the opposite. Every time he sat and watched what was not his the hole inside him opened anew, but he had to watch, had to feel. If he did not, he was sure he would fade away entirely, become just another ghost in the night.

.o0o.o0o.o0o.

The long rains had just stopped when the woman arrived in his village, his first village. Women were nothing new to him, there were plenty among the families of all ages, nor were visitors so strange, there was always business being done between the nearby settlements, but there had been no one like this woman.

Apparently she had come from several villages over, another part of the jungle, really, and she had been following a story. His story. He was not sure how to respond to the new situation. He was threatened, yes, but he knew without having to think it over that he could not deal with her in the way he usually handled threats. In fact, even the fleeting thought of harming the woman made his insides clench and he was forced to halt his patrol in an effort not to be sick. He decided that he would just have to be even more careful then usual—and make sure that no bandits got anywhere near the village during her stay. He never dreamt that he would have to do more than that.

It happened while he was out gathering supplies and looking for signs of encroachment on his enemy's behalf. For the past few days He had been haunting the edges of the clearing where his village sat, waiting and watching for he knew not what, though he suspected it had something to do with the woman. But he had a job to do, a purpose, and he could not subsist on what meals the villagers provided him in any case. So he had left his vigil of the small community and gone foraging in the jungle only to return to his cave and find that this had happened.

He had never before considered that someone could find his cave. As soon as he peered through the crevasse that served as the entrance his mistake was made known to him. He didn't know why he hadn't taken precautions—it seemed as though he took precautions about everything else. And yet, he had always felt , always assumed, that it was protected by… someone. Stupid of him, he now realized. He was the only protector here.

Of course, he was still left with nightfall fast approaching and a woman he was half afraid of on the stone floor of his home. A second look after his lightening retreat revealed her to be hurt and he found himself moving forward to help, stalling only for a split second as he realized that he would have to move into the open. Both the hesitation and the impulse to reveal himself and help bothered him. He knew that rushing forward was unwise for many reasons, not least of which she could awaken and see him. And yet, the hesitation bothered him as well, like he should have stopped her, saved her, been there. Like someone would have been disappointed.

So he moved downward, snaking through the hanging vines until he dropped softly to the floor. He crouched beside the woman, hands hovering a moment before carefully turning her over. There was a bruise blossoming on her temple and cruel-looking friction burns on her arms, and he would guess on her legs as well. They would hurt, but the woman, whoever she was, should be thankful. If the vines had not tangled around her limbs and slowed her fall she would have been much worse off. Ever since he had first awoken he had felt the need to collect plants which where not for consumption. He'd been forced to use them on himself several times, once when a lucky knife strike had caught him on the arm, and again when the cold and damp of his patrols had settled a heaviness in his limbs and a warmth in his flesh, but now he gathered them for his unexpected visitor.

After spreading a salve that he knew was supposed to increase healing and dull pain, he built up his fire from the small ember he kept burning during the day. He was trying to dredge up any memory that would help him determine his next course if action, when a groaning and shifting behind him had him up the vines and once again peering into his home from the outside.

The woman groaned again, putting a hand to her head and grimacing before taking her surroundings. She noticed the fire immediately and when she reached her hand out to the warmth he could tell that she recognized that her injuries had been seen to. In fact, she raised her wrist to her nose and sniffed delicately. From the look of comprehension on her face it seemed she was familiar with the balm and perhaps even recognized some of the ingredients. Moving closer to the fire while still searching the far reaches of the cave with her eyes, she called out in a tentative voice what he could only assume was a greeting of some kind. He didn't recognize her words. It was strange, he had no trouble understanding what his villagers said, at least, he hadn't since the first few days after he had woken up.

He settled himself in the veined shadows cast by the vines below him. There was something about that woman, like she was different, like she had answers. Then again, it could just have been the oddity of her pale skin and copper hair that made her seem so special.

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A/N: So, not very long, but hopefully interesting. please drop a line if you can, I'd love to hear what you all think. Otherwise, here's hoping for a faster update on my part!~ Delia Ra'Nar


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: Okay, so again with the large intervals between updates. But today I finished my summer course and so, in celebration, I'm finally posting the next chapter. As of right now it's unedited and so subject to slight change. Keep this in mind and excuse any spelling and grammatical errors. Aside from that please read and relax guys!

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Over the next few days he found himself increasingly drawn to following the strange woman who had so invaded the sanctuary of his cave. She, for her part, continued to question the locals, but also spent a lot of time in the jungle both in and around his cave. He had a very strong feeling that the slight creature was a magnet for trouble, and so stayed close by during her forays into the leafy wilderness.

It was a good thing he did. On three separate occasions he was able to head off an attack, twice by local wildlife, and once the local gorillas. He had tried to keep the fights quick and silent, but there hadn't been much he could do when she stumbled upon the body of her would be attacker. After checking to see if the man was still alive, something it seemed she was unusually familiar with, she had looked around the jungle floor and scanned the trees. For a moment he had thought that she had seen him, but the dappled sunlight on his stained cloak hid him from all but the most observant eyes.

It was hard work, following the woman around, gathering food and supplies for himself, and still taking care of the villages. Some nights he even found himself unable to collapse beside his fire because the woman was already there, staked out, waiting for his return.

All things considered he should have been relived when he overheard the villagers saying that the woman was returning to her home. Instead, a pit of something took root in the emptiness that had plagued him since waking a lifetime ago. The thought of going back to his solitary existence haunted him. Not that he had ever instigated any interaction, he knew better than that, but for some reason her presence caused him to feel less alone.

The night before she was to depart he could find no rest. It felt as though he was poised, left in the middle of a fight, on the edge of the decision that would end the confrontation, one way or the. He didn't know what he was supposed to do.

It had been so clear before she came—he was supposed to protect, he was supposed to not be seen—and yet, he could not let the woman just disappear. He was torn between imperatives, lost in a void, adrift and without direction from his past. He couldn't let the feelings the woman stirred just drift away, and yet, he had responsibilities here. These people needed him, had come to depend on his protection. So why did he feel that his duty lay else ware? Was it with the woman? Perhaps. At least, he thought, she had something to do with it.

Though it was selfish of him, and potentially detrimental to all involved, he had decided that he would not let the woman leave him here. Not if it meant loosing even the slimmest chance of closing the hole in his chest. And he felt that, somehow, she could help him do that. Why was he so ashamed that he could not let that hope go?

Decision made he gave up on the idea of sleep, knowing that his time was short and he had a lot to do if he was going to be able to leave the villagers behind. He had to make sure that they would be safe, at least for a time. If not then all this meant nothing.

.o0o.o0o.o0o.

It was still dark as he made his way through the jungle brush and dense canopy. He had been keeping a fairly aerate record in his mind as to where the jungle bandits chose to make their camps. They were fairly settled, but did move camp occasionally, weather because they had drained that particular section of the jungle, or because he himself had caused one too many inconveniences at that particular location. Well, after tonight, they would no longer have to worry about the Ghost in the Jungle. They would be worrying about much at all.

There had been a line somewhere in his subconscious. A little voice that made him pull his punches whenever possible and try to redirect his strikes to less mortal points of the body; he used the backs of his blades almost as much as he used their razors edge. He told himself that it was to aid in his cause, that any man that he left alive to crawl back to their compatriots was a messenger for him, a way to spread the fear of the Ghost. But fear wasn't enough anymore, not without himself there to reinforce it.

Exhausted and soul weary he returned to his cave with wet hands and clean blades. No camps within a day's walk of his village would be stirring when the morning sun filtered through the leaves. Eventually someone would come looking for the men who were now gone. There wouldn't be much to find by then, just some deserted campsites all but reclaimed by the jungle's ravenous appetite—and the barest echoes of violence that would gradually blossom into gory horror stories about the Ghost and his thirsty blades. He wished that the truth was farther from the fiction.

He wanted little more than to lay his head down, warm his soul by his fire, and try to not dream—but there was no rest for the wicked. If what he had done that terrible night was to have any meaning then, he needed to be there when the woman left for her own village. And they _would _mean something, his actions; he could not let them be in vain.

.o0o.o0o.o0o.

He had cleaned out everything from the cave that could be easily carried and that he thought might be of use at the woman's village- wherever that might be. He had been forced to leave a lot behind, bringing little more than what he would normally carry on any day, pulse an extra supply of food, medicine, water, and a coil of rope across his chest. Hopefully the extra weapons, wood, and crude containers left behind would help the next lost soul- it was the least he could do.

Now he crouched in the branches over the road the woman would take out of the village, the same one that she had arrived on. As he waited for the woman to make her final goodbyes to the family that she had been staying with, he nervously fingered the smooth blue strip of material again, making sure that the trailing scrap was securely tied around his arm. It was a habit he had picked up and that had only intensified as time had gone by—he didn't feel right without it on his person, and the thought of leaving it behind now was too much.

When the woman finally climbed aboard her vehicle he followed her as best he could through the trees, but soon she picked up enough momentum that he was forced to drop onto the road and sprint a few steps before he could cling to the back of the truck. He kept himself low and was more than ready to take either to the trees or beneath the body of the metal shell.

The long night and dark work threatened to pull him from his tenuous grip on the woman's convenience. It was long past the time he would have stopped for midday meal, and though he had managed to slip some roots and cured meat into his mouth between jolts in the road, he was relived beyond words when the woman finally began to slow her vehicle down. Quickly leaping for the overhanging tree branches, he followed the road and the sounds of the rumbling engine from aloft until it and the woman emerged from the jungle into the largest clearing that he had ever seen.

He moved fast around the circumference, trying to keep the woman in sight, and though the sunlight glinting from her red hair helped, he knew that he would have to move closer if he was going to be able to follow her.

Sticking close to the shadows thrown by the structures and vehicles in the clearing, he took cover under a large metal protrusion (wing) while the woman entered a building with a rigid design (text) over the top of the door. It seemed forever before she emerged, but patience was a virtue he had perfected. When she did come out, two unfamiliar men came with her. They were not villagers, and did not move like militia, though the clothing they wore were almost identical (uniform). He readied himself for action if the men decided to make any threatening moves. Whether he would be able to get there in time was in as much doubt as his ability to find cover while doing so, but he figured that his decision had already been made. He had thrown in his lot with the woman, and he would see where it led even if that necessitated his showing himself to her. But only as a last resort.

Thankfully that desperate time had not yet come as the two men took subordinate positions to the woman and seemed to follow her instructions as the three maneuvered an impressively large wooden box (crate) from the confines of yet another structure set up on the field. He could not hear anything that was said between the three, but he could tell that the crate and its contence meant a great deal to the woman. The trio carefully wheeled the box towards him, and he ducked around to the other side of the supports (landing gear) and pressed his back into the round section (wheel) as the group pulled down a metal incline to his left and moved up into the apparently hollow shell above him. as soon as the three excited, the made for the opposite end that was encased in glass (cockpit) and set between two large blades (propellers). Unsure of just what was going to happen, he decided to trust his instinct and hurriedly slipped inside the rear compartment as the ramp slowly swung up. The crate that the woman cared so much for was inside, as well as several others. Everything was tightly tied down, and it did not take long for him to find out why.

An ominous humming and shaking started vibrating the metal around him, and then the entire building lurched, almost throwing him off of his feet with the unexpectedness of the action. He was not standing in a building, he realized, this was yet another type of vehicle (plane) and suddenly he had the feeling that this ride was going to get worse before it got better.

.o0o.o0o.o0o.

In between the jostling and the shaking of this new and most disturbing form of transportation, he was able to pry off a few of the boards from the lower portion of the woman's crate, enough for him to quietly slip between them. Inside the box he all but ran into the legs of a stone figure. With the angle and lack of light he could not see just what it was that loomed above him, but both it and the crate were well padded so he thankfully braced himself between the cool stone pillars.

The trip, as uncomfortable and disconcerting as it was, could not have lasted long. In the beginning there was a terrifying sensation of his organs being pulled through his bowls and left behind his body, but he relaxed somewhat after registering the lack of blood. Sometime afterward there was a reversal of the feeling, though not as intense, and an abrupt bounce as everything around him attempted to jump into the air before settling into a rattle that he recognized as wheels rumbling over not quite smooth ground. He took that as his que to pull up the last of the boards he had left open for air. He did so by untying the band of silk from his bicep and threading it around the final board and positing it so that the nails on the boards slid back into place when he pulled on the ends of the blue material.

No sooner had he had carefully retied the strip around his arm then the large door through which he had entered was opened. Though he could not see past the stone bulk of his companion, or through the wooden slats of his hiding place, he could hear the higher pitched arguing of the woman contrasting with the lower registers of a man. Beyond that there were sounds and smells that were wholly unfamiliar to him. He was struck by a sharp smell first, like the decay of an animal or a pool of water too long still, but beyond that he could hear the screeching of a bird his mind could not picture and the general hum of humanity, though it sounded as though a whole village was passing him by as he was slowly rolled down a ramp and towards an unknown location.

His avid straining of his ears was interrupted by an abrupt jerk as he and his silent companion were unceremoniously lifted from the ground and, swaying far too much for comfort, moved up and laterally across a wide distance. The belated anxiety of being contained and completely out of control hit him without warning and he was suddenly occupied not only with keeping his balance but with forcing himself to breathe and not kick down the wooden walls as well.

It was only after the crate stopped it's swaying with a solid thump inside of a large echoing place that smelt faintly of blood that he was able to think clearly and tune back into the sounds and voices around him. There was grunting and rough curses interspersed among the sounds of wood and metal being dragged over each other. He eventually recognized the familiar voice of the woman, soft and hard among the dull and blunt male voices. The conversation was impossible to hear in its entirety, but she seemed to be badgering the men into securing the crate in what she considered the 'proper' way. He wished he could see her, short and slight as she was still making her will felt, but no matter what he did, the slats were fitted too close. Strange then, that he could picture it so clearly.

At least, he thought as he settled between the stone pillars of his temporary home, the woman would not be leaving without this obviously much loved crate, and so would not leave without him. The thought was so unexpectedly comforting he found himself relaxing into sleep even as the men continued to bustle around his wooden haven.

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A/N: So, there you have it. I'd love reviews if you guys have any comments because, honestly, this story is proving rather difficult. Regardless, I hope to post another update soon. For real this time. Till then!


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